


Maedhros Maligned

by Silmarils (semit)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Maedhros subjugated, Poor Maedhros, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stockholm Syndrome, mild violence but not too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semit/pseuds/Silmarils
Summary: Quick read of Maedhros during his stay in Angband. A normal elf would have fled. A normal elf would have attacked in some way, however any normalcy was long gone from Maedhros and perhaps would never return.Exploring the relationship of captor and captive and the dynamics between the two.  Melkor must have extracted all that Maedhros knew, so why keep the elf captive?  Likewise, how did Maedhros's sanity fare after such a time in captivity. Was he defeated or defiant?20 Mar 2020 - Released Chapter 5: Even if Maedhros escaped, there would be no escape from his own shame.
Relationships: Maedhros | Maitimo & Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Maedhros | Maitimo/Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

Was it possible for a place to gain consciousness? How would it happen? Would self-awareness grow by accumulation or coalescence, slowly coming together as an aggregate awakening? Would awareness occur with a "bang" in a eureka moment, or would consciousness burn as a slow kindling? 

Take Angband, for example, a place of evil. Striated layers of depravity and debauchery coated its ramparts from within. A palpable, oily evil exuded from the walls, floors, ceilings, and the very air. As though formed by accretion, sin upon sin nurtured the malevolence of the fortress. Not all of its nastiness stemmed from its Lord. No, no. Like prickly burrs, others added and adhered to its brew of wickedness. As if a fortifying paste, the foul deeds of all amplified the acerbic evil, layering brick upon brick of hatred.

Was it possible for a location such as Angband to gain consciousness? To laugh? To think?

Was possible to become a part of that evil, to get flushed down the toilet of depravity?

Absolutely!

Maedhros, the once proud heir to the throne of Fëanor, swirled down the sewers of the stronghold's evil. He was a part of the sickening potion of hatred and hurt that was Angband, adding his own unique ingredients and offenses to the slurry.

“What do you want?” Maedhros whirred in a terror filled panic against the chains encircling his wrists. Before him, the Dark Enemy of Arda and bringer of all suffering, leaned on the black throne. 

For long moments, the Dark Vala picked him apart with his eyes and tapped a musing finger on the throne. A rhetorical question perhaps the elf asked, but Melkor regarded his captive pensively. Then, he voiced an answer in candor, “What I want varies. I know mine emotions and desires at a given moment. Always the Valar and Eldar forget that my mind burns in thought…”

“Depraved thoughts. You,the bringer of all evil and sorrow!” A defiant chin and bright eyes burned with resolve, though Maedhros’s wrists remained chained by long length of expertly forged metal. The links extended to the dark shrouded horrors high above. 

“Am I now?” Melkor brushed a finger across an elven cheekbone to illicit shudder of loathing, “You are in rare form today, elf. Either way, I see why you speak thusly. Mine actions are…”

“Your actions are base!” Though pale and weak from years in captivity in Angband, on some days the Noldor pride swam up in a white rage, “Your deeds are aimless. Here is the irony of your actions. All you do is futile and adds nothing to Arda. You are pointless!”

“Yes, yes,” the Vala’s voice oozed with perhaps feigned annoyance, “It is all a matter of perspective. Let us... discuss then.”

“I wish to discuss nothing with you,” Maedhros’s face was fixed in profound hatred, “You, the corruptor of light, tormentor of my people, and bringer of destruction. Liar!”

A dark eyebrow perked in interest, “My, my, firery today aren’t we?” and he slinked behind his captive like a predator of ill intent.

Trembling, Maedhros efforted vainly against the chain lovingly crafted by Mairon for his Master’s pleasure, “Let us discuss your _feelings_ , Maedhros,” the mockery was clear as Melkor’s voice came from behind, “How are you _feeling_ today?” The elf strained to twist toward the source of that all too familiar voice, the voice that always brought pain.

“I will say nothing for your pleasure."

“Yes, so you’ve said. Then let me start today's conversation then,” the voice held a smile, “You asked me a question before. You asked me what I want. You say you know me, but do you?”

“I don’t care to know you!” Brazen defiance clawed against the elf's fear.

Melkor purred, “But you _do_ care. You came to _me_ …”

“I came in honor for my people, but your offer was false and full of your lies. You know this, Your questions are pointless like your deeds,” Maedhros nearly spat in hatred with the last word, "Always lies with you, no integrity, no principles you have, Vala."

“Yes, yes. I took you under mine protection."

"Your _protection??_ Meahros was incredulous, "Damn you!"

A sigh, "Perhaps let us instead speak of your people, of the elves.” Melkor meandered and redirected their discussion with a tone that was overly patient and measured, “We have a complex relationship, the Eldar and I, the Valar and I, Eru and I. They all hate me you know,”

“You deserve their hatred and unending punishment! Of course, we hate you, and justly. We all do. ”

“We? Yes, of course," he harrumphed in displeasure, "Now I ask the questions. What would you do if you were in mine position?” Melkor’s expression was not of jest.

“What? What would I do? What would I do if I were you? Why do you speak this way?" Such confusion and distrust flooded from the elf, "I will not entertain such a question. You're mad!”

“You do realize that I am being very, very permissive with you today? I’m letting you speak freely. Mine question makes perfect sense, and there is nothing twisted in what I ask. I am truly curious elf, thus my question. I do wish to know your thoughts, at least right now I do. What would you do if you were me?” Melkor’s words were almost honeyed and infused with some cryptic pretense.

Finally, the groping and lustful hands that Maedhros expected to touch his body shot forth from behind to caress his hips. Not painful was Melkor’s grasp, it was teasing only. Still, the disgust that welled through Maedhros pushed vile into his throat.

“What? Ugh! Don’t touch me!” He thrashed about. The chains did allow him some give to spin, so spin he did to lurch away. The Vala laughed quietly, and happening on such an opportunity to disorient his victim, spun his captive round and round in delight. 

“What would you do in mine position, elf?” Melkor repeated. Another push gyrated his prisoner in dizzying circles as the chains braided above Maedhros’s head with the motion.

“Ah! Stop! Please!” Though the dim lights of the hall whirled around the Noldo’s vision, Melkor spun the elf faster and laughed in gleeful delight, “No! Stop!” Terror closed in. _Would the Vala swing me into a sword? Torment me? Send me spinning for hours?_ All unknown.

It was some moments more of propelling the elf around before Melkor relented. He stopped not out of mercy, but since he simply had more vicious games in store, “Pah! Fine!” Again, the hands landed on Maedhros’s hips, but this time with firm intention to bring a sudden cease to the cruel rotation. How Maedhros’s world spun then in nauseating motion.

“What would you do if you were me?” There was determination in the Vala’s pitch, “If you were me, would you surrender? Give the enemy your kingdom? Throw your people at their cold mercy? Plead for clemency? Relinquish all that you’ve worked for? ”

“What line of questioning is this? I don’t know. I am not you! I am not a Vala! I cannot fathom facing the consequences of your deeds since I would not have done them,” The elf feared that this would go badly for him, “What do you want?”

 _Again, the elf asks the same question, what I want!_ A great puff of clear frustration let loose from the Vala, “Stupid Noldo!” Fury edged closer, “You began this. You asked me what I wanted. Now you don't want an answer. I do try to answer you. You’re not _listening!_ ” A hand left the narrow of the elf’s middle with intention to strike him in violence. There was a pause of apparent consideration, of plotting. No strike came. Melkor held his hand aloft momentarily, but out of the elf’s vision.

This was an unusual mood for the Vala. It was not a positive mood, but still, it was a rare space for Melkor's mind. He stilled his violence for the time and continued the warped questioning, “You have been under my care for some years. Yet we have not spoken thusly. I answered your question,” the hand returned to that small waist, “I answered you, but in my own way. Come now, play with me for moment, will you?” Melkor's hand lowered to the elf's lower abdomen in clear lust. Maedhros spun of his accord to flinch away from the Vala's lascivious touch.

Only the shallow breathing of the elf could be heard for a time, “I will speak with you only. Only words and only a few. I will not play any game of yours. No games! No lies!” Truly, the elf agreed to discourse with Melkor only to avoid pain for the Vala often imparted him with terrible gifts of torment.

Melkor’s glee was nearly palpable, and unconsciously he squeezed the Noldo’s waist a bit of too tightly, “You see, elf, you asked me what I want. Know this, I have no choice but to act thusly. It is what I am. Did you know that I am aware of my nature? Did you? I know I am the one that was created to bring change, destruction, pain, and chaos. I am to do all this, lead the Vala, prune their creations, and rule Arda at the same time. But, no, the Vala did not want their creations pruned, and Eru rejected what he created. He pushed me away. If I am the one he fashioned to bring change, then of course I sought to change his music. What did he expect? He crafted me this way, yet I am punished for it. Hated. Imprisoned. Tormented. Persecuted. Banished. As I said, I too have emotions. I too suffer.”

“What are you saying to me, Vala? Why are you saying this? Are you saying you wish to repent? Then repent,” _And set me free,_ he thought but knew he would not be.

“Repent?” Sonorous laughter rang out as though the elf spoke in humor, “No, no, Maedhros. I cannot repent. How can I repent for what I am? That would be folly. And even if were repentant, which I am not, the Vala would never believe me. Not again. It would not end well. So, you see, I have no choice. No choice,” the tone was that of a confessor but without penitence.

“You always have a choice,” came a weak voice.

“Not I, elf. The Valar and my creator offer me no choice. No surrender, no repentance. I must fight. I must fight and win. I must fight or I die. Or worse. I have no options. _Not anymore._ Perhaps I never did,” Melkor’s last words trailed off quietly, and were flush with some sort of escalating sentiment, "I want to win. I _have_ to win to survive, to be free. I want what we all want, to live and to thrive."

Rightly, Maedhros feared what Melkor’s rising emotions and mad words would mean for him. They were alone, elf and Vala. Melkor wanted this solitude, so no others would hear his candor-filled discourse. Still, Maedhros dreaded the implications of their current discussion and Melkor’s confessions. _Would he now kill me? Cut out my tongue so I could not speak what I heard? Maim me?_ It was unknown, and the Vala’s moods were notoriously unstable, fragile, and tinged with some wild passion that manifested in awful ways. 

“Yes, elf! I must fight or die!” the Vala pursued. A long pause hovered as the Vala stroked the elf's side. Again and again he did this heedlessly. Too many pensive moments passed before Melkor spoke again, “Perhaps I _should_ die then?”

What response could the elf speak to such a statement? Wisely, Maedhros remained silent as he hung in the bruising manacles. Oh, how his arms ached! The limbs were drained, numb, and bloodless after so many hours held aloft.

A purple tinged flash lit the hall for a moment, illuminating the depths and depravity found there—the skulls, the decay, the death. Maedhros knew such a flash was the violet unlight of Melkor’s power. He was conditioned and trauma-filled from it. Purple light meant bad things for the elf. Such terrible things! His body pulled back in unconscious muscle memory against the hold on his hips.

"Yes, perhaps I _should_ die," Melkor repeated, "What do you think?"

Panic struck Maedhros. This terror was not without cause since over the years Melkor performed unspeakable acts on the elf. From base torture, to isolation, to emotional torment, to lies, trickery, to debauchery—all of this dark attention Melkor lavished on the son of his deceased enemy. Purple unlight meant pain, and Maedhros’s fëa and hröa held this knowledge with dread.

But not today.

Today, the violet flash of power released the elf’s manacles. Such shock throbbed through the elf. Still, his mind was habituated to a simple equation: A purple glow of Melkor's power equaled agony. _This is more trickery_ , Maedhros thought. He was released, but for what reason he did not know.

A normal elf would have run at such sudden freedom. A normal elf would have fled the moment the shackles fell. A normal elf would have attacked in some way. Any normalcy was long gone from Maedhros and perhaps would never return. His eyes flicked to Melkor.

The Vala smirked crookedly as their eyes met, and Maedhros’s shook visibility as he hugged his own naked torso. _Now here comes pain!_

“Take it,” spoke the Vala.

“What? Take what?” Green elf eyes widened in terror. _Take pain? Take terror? Take what?_

“Take. This. Blade.”

So consumed in his terror, Maedhros was unaware that Melkor was handing him a large knife, “What?”

“Are you deaf, fool?! Take the fucking knife!!”

Maedhros did as he was ordered and accepted the blade in confusion and astonishment.

“Kill me,” Melkor spoke quietly as he tapped his left chest to indicate where he wished the blade to impale him. Maedhros could feel Melkor lower his power, and release any protection that would deflect such a blow.

“What?! Stab you?”

 _Kill him?!_ Thought the elf, _Kill him? Does he despair so much that he wishes pain? This blade cannot truly kill him anyway only inflict pain. Has the Vala descended further into madness? Or is this trickery. Does he only wish me to attack him so he can attack me in kind?_

Melkor nodded slowly. He let his arms fall to his sides and closed his eyes. 

The atmosphere was thick, still, and held a trace of ozone from the release of power. The torches did not crackle, no distant laughter could be heard. So shocked was Maedhros that he was paralyzed in inaction. _What is this? Should I do as he asks? Stab him? Or, perhaps I should slit his throat? Should I run? Is this a game?_ He looked only at the rise and fall of the Vala’s chest, at the destination where Melkor bid him to thrust the knife into his body. The elf looked in disbelief and horror at Melkor's closed eyes, at the Vala's hands hanging at his side, at his eerie serenity. Maedhros was stunned and terrified.

Time slid by. Blue Vala eyes shot open after too much of the elf's deliberation. Once again, green elven eyes stared into blue. They perhaps shared a brief mutual insight into the other’s pain, for just a moment. Perhaps. 

Then it ended. 

Violence. 

“Fool!” The full force of Melkor’s strength circled the elf’s wrist in crushing force.

Pain! “Ah! No, no, no wait,” Maedhros shrieked in anguish at the clamping grip, the pressure of the hold threatened to echo in the hall with a sickening crack of bone, “No, no, please! Ahh!” Silver light glinted from the blade as Melkor wrenched it away from him. The Noldo struggled against Melkor, frantically digging at the devastating press of iron fingers on his wrist.

“You could have done it, you know. You could have run, or stabbed me, but no! You are a _coward!_ The worst type of craven thing, too scared to move. Frightened into inaction. You have proven once again that the elves are weak. Useless, pointless creations!" 

“What do I want?,” Melkor continued, “I will tell you now what I also want with no pretense. I want you to see you suffer. I want you to give me pleasure. I want your body writhing against mine until I come. And you _will_ give it to me. You are complicit now in whatever happens to you. You made your choice. You chose your own pain.”

“You are mad!”

“Who’s the mad one, Maedhros?” Melkor walk-dragged the elf down flickering torch lit corridors.


	2. Chapter 2

New bruises crossed at angles across older yellowing marks and angry red circles of red circling his wrists. Chittering orcs, soldiers, and slaves skidded away from the struggling elf.

“No, no!” bare feet bled as he was walked-dragged. His abused wrists burned—Always Melkor tormented those wrists, “Vala, please!” He dared not address his captor as ‘Morgoth’, but never could he utter the name ‘Melkor’' in Nolor pride, “What do you want…,”

Hard knuckle knobs pounded an elven cheekbone with a growl, “Again? Again you ask this!” Truly though Maehedros question was fear-driven and abstract. No more insight would Melkor offer as to his reason, since the time for confessions had passed. 

Begging came then. It was an automatic, instinctual and pointless habit. there was little the elf could do as Melkor raged at the purpose for his own creation, toward Arda, toward the Eldar, “No matter then,” Melkor muttered as he kicked upon the door to someone’s quarters. These were not his apartments, but the rooms that would suffice. A form slinked out upon their entrance. The Maia occupant, Tevildo in human form, skidded to an exit as Maedhros was flung onto the bed.

There were no bindings here, no pillory. No need. No difference.

“Maedhros,” Melkor unfastened and removed his own brocaded outer doublet to reveal a sheer, black linen tunic beneath, “No more mincing words. Your craven discourse and nature sickens me. What do I want,” he mocked the elf’s tone, “You are foolish, stupid, or somehow otherwise affected... a low wattage daffofil,”

So small the elf tried to make himself, pushing his body to the headboard with legs drawn up in a tight ball. Whimpering now, the Noldor pride that rose so high before dipping down in an ebb. 

Melkor reached to clout him, but the red haired head ducked low behind the wall of shins, as a clawed hand cinched around that hair and heaved forward.

Amid teeth bared in pain, Maedhros’s hand wrapped around the Vala’s wrist and dragged his fingernails across the arm. This was not a defensive move, but one to simply delay the violence.

A hiss, and Melkor’s wickedly razored claws pushed cruelly into the elven flesh. Deeply he did this, drilling up bubbles of elf blood around the sharp points.

“Aahhh!” Maedhros struggled to make himself one the bed’s headboard, huge eyes peering over the top of the leather clad knees held by bruised arms. 

Quickly Melkor regarded the reddening mark on his forearm arm, “You hate me,” he was fixed on this thought this night.

 _Of course I hate you. What do you want me to say?_ Maedhros dared not give voice these thoughts. Quaking breaths pulled at the line of ribs that pushed too shallowly against his skin.

Now then, one of those claws tapped at the long blade tucked into the belt at Melkor’s hip. Elven eyes tracked to the weapon and its potential. Without his doublet, revealed was a Vala was too thin at the waist, but not in the same gaunt and wasting way as the elf. Melkor’s upper body was stronger, but not heavily muscled. 

A blaze popped in the fireplace lit by the Maia as the orange light danced across their features and mirrored on the wetness of their eyes.

“Just do whatever you’re going to do,” came a near whisper from the huge eyes.

“Maybe I do nothing,” a genuine smile of amusement played behind Melkor’s voice.

“You lie,” came the flat observation of truth.

“Yes, how amazing. The elf can learn,” and so suddenly a hand shot out to both of Maedhros’s ankles. Too easy it was to pull the elf’s legs from beneath him, to uncoil that tightly coiled defensive ball, and fell him to his back.

All too fast to register, Melkor was on him. Always at the wrists, and so rapidly those tortured wrists were ratcheted over the elf’s head. So swiftly the Vala’s straddled him, the Vala’s feet angled backwards to press down his shins.

Wicked was the grin then and the chuckle of delight at the sight of the restrained elf, at the thin chest that heaved in frantic terror, at the wide eyes, the pinned hands.

There, Melkor luxuriated in his dominance, and how it stoked him. He loved it! Loved to subjugate, but hated his captive. How he longed that it was Feanor instead of his wretched pup! No matter, and he leaned forward to kiss the elf, a gesture that was of course rebuffed with a rapid shake of the Noldo’s head.

“No?” Melkor released one wrist. A mercy? No.

“Fuck you, you…,” that bold voice choked on the words when that same knife that he could have plunged into the beating hear of his enemy jutted into an elven jugular. So sharp was the blade, and it craved to fulfill its purpose.

“No?” That same crooked smile.

Shuddering breaths of terror as pale hands pressed against Melkor’s chest, and the blade pressed in at an angle. Not down the knife jutted, but instead prick the skin and Maedhros’s terror, and oh how terrorized Maedhros was against the Vala’s fragile moods. Almost cool blood glided in a thin river to a sunken collarbone. Melkor loved it. Such a distraction from whatever pain pulled his mind.

“Fuck me, yeah? Is this how you speak to your Lord? The one who released you from your bonds?”

 _The one who put me in them!_ The thoughts so urgently wished to rise to a voice, but not anymore. Too much subjugation, too much punishment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros's rage bubbles over.

The point of Melkor’s blade danced up to Maedhros’s cheek and pushed in mercilessly to form a dimple. Such fear dueled with a new emotion in the elf—anger. Rage it was that bubbled up first to the Noldo’s ears to flush them pink. White wrath then slid to his eyes that quivered and pupils that constricted despite the darkness.

So close now were elf and Vala, and the blue of the Melkor’s irises flashed brightly with foul plotting. His mind wheeled with horrific intent to manifest his revenge on all the Eldar in this one victim.

It was then that Maedhros’s rebellion plunged through his fear to explode in action. Alight with rage, the elf’s hand shot out with a sudden and firm resolve.

Disregarding any pain or damage to himself, Maedhros grasped the icy sharpness of the Angbandian blade around its cutting edges. “You will subjugate me no more, Morgoth!” An elven knee sprung forward with surprising strength to clout his captor in his midsection. Such an unexpected action compelled the Vala to let loose his iron grip from the hilt of that horrific blade.

Tall and proud Maedhros now stood beside the bed. Elven glory filled that moment as blood oozed to the floor in a hot trickle. How the fire that lit the room captured the red of the elf’s hair that framed him in fury. In one quick motion, the blade flipped to a proper hold and all his maddening rage drilled into the focus on its sharp tip. 

With bared teeth and a growl of passionate wrath, hatred compelled down the knife into the Vala’s flesh, deep into the muscle of Melkor’s shoulder. In red anger, Maedhros twisted the metal to maximize pain and enhance the damage. Gasp then Melkor did in complete surprise and anguish as the elf drove home his sweet revenge through that knife.

Such a moment could not last and a vicious reactive clout stuck the elf with brutal command. Maedhros fell hard, propelled back with such power to the floor. Tumbling nearly in to the fireplace, his world circled in near concussion at the blow into his temple. Yet still Maedhros clutched that reddened blade like a prize that shone with the mingling blood of the Noldor and Vala as one. 

Tall and proud Melkor now stood beside the bed. He was a sight of fury and pain as his shoulder glistened in the firelight from the oozing deep hole. Gone was the playful mirth as power took its place and saturated the room. Indeed, all of Angband groaned in tandem to the Lord’s seething energy. Prickling static lifted Melkor’s hair around him with a buzz of power that murmured threats of violence Raging and escalating his power to staggering levels, breaths of fury heaved from the Vala’s chest. Deeply the floor vibrated at it resonated to the Master of Angband. Vanished was any seduction as Melkor’s features contorted in rage.

Scrambling his feet on the thin carpet, the pounding of the elf’s heart was frantic. Elven eyes flicked wildly in panicky jerks, but he quickly recalled he was not bound. No chains or manacles restrained his bruised wrists. In Melkor’s arrogance, he had freed his elf slave, so confident he was of the elf’s submission. But Melkor was wrong.

Like some uncaged and feral animal, Maedhros scampered on all fours toward the door just past a large mirror. He would escape this hell, he would be free, to heal, to renew…

Pain! So terribly the Vala’s ironlike foot crunched down on the back of Maedhros’s calf to illicit a scream of agony. With relentless wrath, the raging power Melkor welled up from his core to unleash arcing power on the elf. Horribly Maedhros wailed in agony. Too long. The scream pulled hard at his lungs leaving him breathless. He crumpled in to himself in anguish.

No mercy would there be as Melkor focused his power for yet another discharge of pain. Still Meadhros held the knife and as the Vala released pure energy, the elf could only hold the blade up in a poor defense. However, that focused blast would prove to be a boon for the Maedhros, for as he rapidly moved to escape another bout of agony, Melkor’s discharge glinted across the mirror. Huge shards of iridescent glass exploded about the room in spray of shrapnel, but not before some of that emission reflected back on its creator. In such irony, Melkor howled in pain for the second time in one day as his own power sizzled across his body. 

_Go! Run!_ Thoughts ushered action and compelled an escape, and the elf leapt upon the opportunity! Quickly he ran out that door into the darkness of Angband beyond!

“Damn you, elf!” the thundering voice of the Dark Vala echoed behind as Meadhros limped into the unknown horrors of the fortress on his injured leg, “Gothmog, find that elf!” Melkor’s command permeated the halls and all of Angband whirled to heed the call of their Lord. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros endeavors to escape from the foul brew of Angband.

Terror fueled Maedhros has he moved through the foul dankness of Angband. Carefully then, his hands traced the cool walls to guide his way amid. Wary were his footsteps as he skirted a wide path any dim torch that fought against the darkness. Best not to be seen. Still, seen he was as his mind’s eye sensed consciousness in the floors, in the walls, in everything. What twisted demons Melkor had permitted residence in the fortress was unknown, but an oppressive awareness thronged against him.

“Kinslayer,” a voice hummed from the very foundations of Angband. Melkor’s voice.

“No!” And pain hammered in Maedhros’s head. The desire for escape, to live, pounded strong and clear against Melkor’s echoing laughter. That Meadhros had injured the Dark Lord was certain, as the Vala’s blood and his own blood shimmered as though black on the blade he held. Thinking on this in satisfaction, the elf smiled bitterly. If the Lord could heal himself, Maedhros did not know. _No matter. Let him suffer._

Echoing shuffles of orc voices drew near. That they searched for him he knew as amid their grumbles in their harsh language he understood but one word—his name. ‘Maedhros’ they said, and fear squeezed his heart with their undeniable intentions. _They will find me!_

The will to escape battered and fought with the terror. The orc voices faded, grew distant, but no reprieve did this give the elf for in the absence of sound grew a terrible silence. If only he could still his quavering breath for that horrid consciousness of Angband returned.

“Maedhros,” a voice whispered softly, and his arm was gripped gently. 

The knife! Maerdhros’s blade drove at whatever foul being touched him. Always the elf now jumped at any touch and many sounds after years of imprisonment and torment. At the dim movement the hand that dared to meet his arm pulled away, and Maedhros scanned for his enemy in this dim light. 

Before him stood what was clearly a Maia, but none he had seen previously. Maedhros did not recognize this Maia. An evil creative it appeared, with pale skin, black hair to his shoulders, and almost feline eyes of ill intent. The insignia on the Maia’s uniform informed Maedhros of this one’s loyalty as on each shoulder he bore the embroidered crown of Melkor, the three Silmarils, and mountains of Thangorodrim. The enemy.

Wisely, Maedhros gripped the weapon in clear threat, “Stay back, foe, or I will give you death!” fear betrayed this sentiment as the blade trembled with terror. Slow steps of retreat the elf made for he did not wish to trade words with such a foul being, only depart to his realm, to safety, to respite, to salvation.

The Maia made no move, hands at his side, “There is no escape from Angband, Noldo. They will find you. _I_ have found you.”

Still, the elf made a retreat, “Silence, wicked traitor to Eru.”

The tension was almost electric as those yellow Maia eyes drilled into Maedhros as his departing and backward clumsy steps continued. There was no movement from the Maia, but a rising sense of trickery and deceit was clear.

In a flash of movement this Maia was upon him, first to the arm that held the blade. A disarming wrench the Maia attempted without success since Maedhros possessed the strength of one resolute to escape. This Maia was not large or strong as a balrog in human form, nor powerful like Mairon. In fact, it was thinnish and almost frail—a lesser Maia perhaps, but still it was Aniur, and as such was the better of the two. Claws sprung from the fingertips of this Maia, as though sheathed in the fingertips, and they were arching and pointedly sharp—it’s weapons!

As the Maia slashed at the elf, its determined will moved to break the Noldo’s arm in a wrenching motion. A wicked thought alighted in the elf’s mind and Maedhros knew how to end this battle. 

Bite he did on the arm that intended to injure him, and bite hard! Not just bite did he, for he shook his mouth in fury as though rabid. A morsel of skin and muscle he cleaved with that arm with his teeth and spat it out like rotten meat, blood staining his teeth and streaming down in rivers.

Gone was the kingly nature of the Noldor. No more was he poised and composed. With that bite, he had consumed the forbidden fruit. In his single minded will to escape and depart the fortress, Meadhros became what he despised the most. He was now a creature of Angband.

A wail rose up then in shock and agony from his enemy behind wide eyes of surprise. Run now did Maedhros like a rabbit chased by a cat, and so it was for this Maia leapt after him in pain filled fury as he roared in rage, “I would have offered you clemency, elf!” it likely lied, “But you attack like the lowest scum. Fuck the Lord wants you whole! I will kill you! Fuck Melkor!” Disloyal words betrayed its unfaithfulness to the Dark Master as it’s breath pulled in pain rather than effort.

As though a lame beast of burden on his injured leg came the irregular footfalls of Maedhros. He was fast and agile, but slowing, and this enraged Maia was quickened by the adrenaline of its wound.


	5. Chapter 5

Again, was it possible for a place to gain consciousness? To laugh? To think? Perhaps. Was possible to become a part of that evil, to get flushed down the toilet of depravity. Absolutely!

Maedhros was now part of the sickening potion of hatred and hurt that was Angband, adding his own unique ingredients and offenses to the brew. He fled weakly from his feral pursuer as it hunted him and closed distance. There could not be an escape. It was impossible. _No need. No point._ Maedhros’s thoughts rattled in defeatism _. No point. No point._

He slowed, stopped, sighed, and turned. His Maia pursuer would soon arrive, and he did, almost launching in to the elf in his single-minded search for Maedhros. The Maia was livid, breathless, and gave the appearance of regression to base savagery. 

Still, Maedhros held the knife, the same blade of irony given to him by Melkor but an hour ago. It still glimmered with the Vala’s blood. Made by an Ainur, it seemed to crave Ainur ichor. If a blade could heed the blessings or curses of its maker, this one mirrored its origin and sought violence.

The feline-like Maia bared his teeth and lunged once more in wrath at the Noldor. Perhaps this Ainur pursuer was driven by pain from the injury to his arm, or perhaps something more. No matter. The Maia’s attack was not difficult to dodge. It was too simply forceful and too resolute. Staggering then, the weakened Maia rammed past his victim to slam into the smoothly slick stone wall. In response, Angband seemed to hum and throb from the violence it craved.

In a moment, Maian claws slashed at Maedhros’s throat in a twirling and almost awkward move. Again, no contact. Clumsy.

Countering, the elf deployed the blade with expert precision. With rage and force, Maedhos drove the knife into the Maia’s chest. Deeply this blade wrenched between ribs into the center of pumping blood, to the heart. Gasping in pain first, the Maia then shrieked weakly at the injury before the blade was withdrawn with a wrench.

More gasps and the Maia melted to his knees, “Master,” he whispered softly, in a plea to his Lord for perhaps healing, for clemency, for love, for comfort? For nothing! None of these came, and inevitably, the Ainur slid fully to the floor as blood poured from the wound to his chest in weakening ebbs and softening breaths.

Horror! Even through all his sins, Maedhros felt pity first, then shame, the repulsion at his own deeds. The next layer of sin slathered on to the pulsing horror pit of Angband.

Maedhros ran from his own act. He lurched away from the dying Maia in a limping gait as tears oozed from his eyes. Even if he escaped, there would be no escape from his own shame.


End file.
